


of potions & princes

by postingpebbles



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, Magic-Users, Mistaken Identity, Romance, background Phichimetti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postingpebbles/pseuds/postingpebbles
Summary: A street magic performance might be an unlikely place to meet the love of your life, but that's exactly what Viktor does the night of the kingdom's Lights Festival. Yuki's beautiful, kind, intelligent, and completes a part of Viktor that he didn't even know was missing. It's almost unbelievable that they hadn't met sooner.Or at least, it would've been if "Yuki" was a simple commoner like him.Or if he wasn't hiding a secret.





	of potions & princes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saniika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saniika/gifts).



> happy holidays sanii!! this was a ton of fun to write, and i hope you enjoy <33
> 
> (many many thanks to [jo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpforjo), [addy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna99), [raiza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duendejunior), and [kaleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocoloki) for helping me i love you all)

“Chris, I already told you I’m not going.”

Chris, already wearing his Festival clothes, tuts in response. “Are you telling me that you’re going to _work_ the night of the Lights Festival?”

“Yes?” Viktor gestures helplessly to the potions bubbling on the counter. “There’s so much to do, and I can’t just abandon the apothecary. Also, please get off the table.”

Chris does so, but Viktor can tell from the look in his eye that the conversation isn’t over.

“One night off won’t kill you,” Chris insists, leaning over the counter. “And the Lights Festival has been your favorite ever since we were schoolkids—you haven’t gone in _years._ ” He frowns. “I worry about you sometimes, Vitya. When’s the last time you gave yourself a break?”

Viktor picks up one of the potions once the timer goes off, then carefully pours it into a small flask. He hands it to Chris. “I don’t _need_ a break. I’m fine. And remember to—”

“Only mix a drop with my shampoo, I _know._ It’s not like I’ve been using hair dyeing potion from you since you tested it.”

Chris reaches for the flask, but Viktor pulls it back before he can grab it. “Protocol, Chris. So you don’t sue me if you forget.”

“Like I ever would,” Chris scoffs, swiping the bottle out of Viktor’s hands and slipping it into his robes with the finesse of a shadow magician. “So,” he says, batting his eyes, “are you going to leave me alone out there for the wolves tonight, or are you going to come with me?”

Viktor presses his lips together. Then he sighs.

“ _Okay,_ I’ll consider coming with you tonight if no one needs me,” Viktor relents, waving his hand to transport the leftover potions into storage. Then he fixes Chris with a stern look. “ _But_ I’ll have Makkachin spell me if anyone visits while we’re gone.”

“Of course, of course,” Chris agrees, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’ll just be a quiet night out, I promise.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe not _entirely_ quiet,” he amends. “A few drinks, a few street performances—I have a friend who’s performing tonight, actually.”

“The same friend you’ve been seeing for the past few months?”

“The very same,” Chris says cheerfully, loping toward the door. “I’ll be back at six, so don’t forget to get your pretty face out of the potions!” He waves. “And wear The Robe!”

 

* * *

 

 The Robe, as Chris so eloquently put it, is a set of midnight black fabric with blood-red underlining and energy crystals down the right side of the chest. It was something that Viktor had tailored for himself in his younger days, fully convinced he’d be a battle mage, but he grew up to be an healer instead.

He doesn’t regret the switch—not at all.

The clothes are enchanted to grow to fit the wearer, so it’s child’s play to slip the robes on at thirty minutes to six. Some of the spell has worn off, making it a little tight around his shoulders and arms, but Viktor has to admit he looks _good_ as he examines himself in the mirror.

He looks mysterious. Handsome. Not like a dingy healer at all.

Satisfied, Viktor parts his hair and begins to braid the two sections before pinning them up into a crown. It takes more effort than just a single braid or a ponytail, but it’s worth it because of the occasion. Viktor lines his eyes, swipes a bit of mascara on his lashes, and then puts gloss on his lips.

Someone wolf-whistles as Viktor tugs at a few strands of hair to frame his face, and he sees Chris grinning at him in the reflection of the mirror. _Shadow mages._ It’s like the doorbell—or doors!—don’t even exist.

“Six o’clock sharp,” Chris sings, looping his arm through Viktor’s. “Are you ready?”

“Guess so.” Viktor allows himself to be pulled downstairs, past Makkachin (but not before giving the poodle a parting pat), and out into the warmth of the summer air.

Viktor’s house is near the edge of the city, but it’s easy work for Chris to transport them to the heart and near the palace. They step out of the shadows of an ice cream shop, selling special flavors for tonight’s festival, and seamlessly melt into the shifting crowd.

Chris’s type of magic could be considered dangerous, and it is—there’s something terrifying about not knowing if your own shadow is holding someone that could kill you, and the more paranoid keep a charm than warns them about any possible danger. Most homes also have a safeguard against shadow magic because of the potential threat against the inhabitants’ safety, but Chris is able to sneak in and out of Viktor’s own home since the house knows his signature.

Admittedly, all types could be misused if the user so wishes it. Viktor’s own brand, healing, could potentially kill if he twisted it in a certain way.

“This is where my friend is performing,” Chris says, pointing out the large wooden stage in the center of the square. It’s currently empty under the sunlight, but Viktor knows that once night falls and all the lights are aglow, that stage will host something beautiful.

The crowd slowly thickens as the hours pass and the sky grows darker, and Viktor gasps when the lights, strung throughout the city, burst to life. Chris was right—it really _has_ been too long since he’s attended the festival.

He and Chris split the food they bought as they wait for night to truly fall, and Viktor groans when the spices hit his tongue.

“ _Gods,_ I’ve missed festival food.”

Chris gives him a triumphant look. “And you said you didn’t want to come.”

Viktor tears another cube of meat off the stick, chewing petulantly. “Yeah, but I _did,_ didn’t I?”

A mother with two wailing kids is currently eyeing their bench, silently pleading for them to move, so Viktor stands and dusts off his robe. Chris joins him, tossing away their trash, and then they start to make their way closer to the stage.

People have already begun to gather there, milling about. A low hum settles in the air as their conversations blur into one, but Viktor and Chris are content to just stand there and wait. It’s a little warm there in the mass of moving bodies; Viktor’s thankful that the mesh cut-outs in the back of his robe help keep the fabric from sticking to his back.

Then soft music begins to play, light and airy, and the excited chatter of the crowd increases before culminating into a loud cheer once the emcee takes the stage. He’s dressed in a deep mauve suit that glitters with gold as he moves underneath the lights, and his curly hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

“That’s Celestino Cialdini,” Chris whispers, though Viktor is already very much aware of who he is. The Lights Festival draws everyone in, even those from outside the kingdom, and it seems that the famed performance mage is no exception.

“Thank you all for coming to the show tonight!” Celestino booms, his voice magically amplified. “Tonight features _several_ very special performances, and the last is something I’m sure you’ve never seen before. So stick around—and enjoy!”

Viktor is intrigued. “Chris—”

“The last performance is my friend,” Chris says, grinning as he hands Viktor a cup. Viktor isn’t sure where Chris even _found_ the drink, but he accepts it anyway. “He’s been writing me for the past few months about it, raving on and on about how spectacular it is.”

“Are you ever going to give me a name?” Viktor laughs before taking a small sip of the alcohol.

“Phichit Chulanont,” Chris sighs. “An absolutely beautiful name for a beautiful person.”

“I’m sure,” Viktor says, amused. “I’m glad you’re happy with him. It’s been a while.”

“Let’s hope you find someone tonight as well, Vitya,” Chris says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Viktor laughs again, the drink already making him feel lighter than air. “We’ll see.”

Then the show starts, and it’s _incredible_. As someone who’s relatively skilled with magic, Viktor can’t help but be impressed with the level of control each act has. There’s a pair of twins who perform acrobatics by levitating swings through object manipulation, a stoic, dark-haired man who creates animals with fire, and finally, Chris’s friend.

And _oh,_ Viktor doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more enchanting than this. The lights are dimmed before Phichit takes center stage, and when he begins to _move,_ Viktor knows why.

Brightly-colored lights shoot from his hands and feet as he dances, creating a prismacolor vortex into the night sky. The audience cheers louder with every flash. Viktor’s most definitely one of them. It’s evident that Phichit was born to be a performer—his smile is enchanting, pulling viewers in, and he seems to _thrive_ with every shout of encouragement.

But all too soon, the show comes to an end.

“I’m going to go see him!” Chris yells over the crowd, already getting swallowed up by the masses, and then Viktor’s suddenly left behind in the throng.

He’s a little annoyed, but he knows he probably would’ve done the same thing if he were in Chris’s position. So Viktor squeezes out, and immediately bumps into someone.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” the man says, bending forward into a bow, and Viktor’s more than a little embarrassed by the formal apology.

“It’s fine!” Viktor says in return, waving his hands reassuringly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Please stand.”

And when he does, all of Viktor’s breath leaves him in a _whoosh._ Because dear gods above, this man is gorgeous.

“Are you okay?” the man asks, looking soft and lovely in his midnight blue robes. His brown eyes—made even larger by his glasses—are filled with so much warmth, and his fluffy dark hair looks soft to the touch.

Viktor very nearly loses the ability to speak. “I-I—” He flounders for a while before finally blurting out, “You’re beautiful.”

The man gives a tiny squeak that should _not_ have been so cute, and Viktor feels himself flushing. “Um! Thank you!” he says, his gaze dropping down to the ground, and Viktor desperately wishes he was a shadow mage so that he could melt right there.

“Sorry—” Viktor starts, but the man only laughs. It’s just as lovely as he is.

“I don’t remember the last time someone has spoken to me so directly before,” he says, bringing his sleeve up to his mouth. His eyes twinkle. “What’s your name?”

Viktor might’ve forgotten how to breathe. “Viktor,” he somehow manages to say. “Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Y-Yuki,” the man says, his voice lilting over the syllables of his name, and there goes Viktor, astral projecting because he’s thirsting so incredibly hard over someone he’s just met.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Viktor says, doing his best not to trip any more over his words.

Yuki smiles. “Likewise. Are you from around here?” he asks. “I’ve been going to the festival for years, but I’ve never seen you before.”

Viktor rubs his neck. “I, um, run the apothecary near the edge of the city,” he explains. “ _Makkachin House._ I could easily move to the center if I wanted to, but it’s—it’s better to be so close to fresh soil in the forest. I just haven’t gone to the festival in a while since I’ve been so busy, I’ve recently been hired by the royal family—”

“There’s no shame for where you live,” Yuki says, his voice soft. “I completely understand.”

“Do you—do you want to go somewhere else?” Viktor asks, realizing that they’re still standing in the middle of the town square. Yet another person sidesteps them, shooting the both of them a disapproving look, and Viktor impulsively reaches for Yuki’s hand. _Sorry for leaving you, Chris._ “I know this great spot by the lake. We’ll have a great view of the lights from there.”

Yuki’s face lights up. “I’d love to,” he breathes, his cheeks pink.

 

* * *

 

The sound of the festival is fainter by the lakeshore.

Their robes rustle in the underbrush, dragging across the sand, and Viktor—very reluctantly—has to let go of Yuki’s hand to do this bit of magic. Viktor’s studied a fair amount of magic in his life before finally settling into healing, and he knows enough object manipulation for this.

A mat begins to knit together from the grass, giving them something to sit on instead of the wet sand. Viktor sits on it first, then beckons Yuki to join him.

“Your magic is impressive,” Yuki offers, accepting the invitation. “You said you run an apothecary, but you’re still familiar with manipulating objects?”

Viktor nods, noting once again how _formal_ Yuki’s manner of speech is. Maybe he’s a lord? A duke? “I studied a few branches before finally settling into healing,” Viktor says, idly playing with a loose blade of grass. “It was hard work, but I’ve never felt that I made the wrong decision.”

Yuki suddenly looks wistful. “I can only imagine.”

“I only came to the festival because my friend told me I’ve been working too much,” Viktor admits, looking over the waters. “Did you see the show?”

Yuki nods. “I went to support my friend. He was the last act—the one with light magic.”

“Phichit,” Viktor remembers. “He won’t be upset that I’ve stolen you away for tonight?”

Yuki shakes his head. “He’ll probably be a little too preoccupied by his _other_ friend to notice that I’m gone.” The teasing glint in his expression reassures Viktor that he’s not _truly_ annoyed.

Viktor snorts. “Seems that we’ve both been left behind.”

“Maybe,” Yuki says, smiling.

They watch the moon rise higher and higher into the sky, its silvery glow reflecting over the water’s surface. Small pinpricks of light begin to appear in the distance, marking the preparation tonight’s main event, and Yuki startles next to him.

“I forgot a lantern—”

But Viktor unfolds one from his bag, the paper covered with shimmering stars. “I have one, if you don’t mind sharing?”

Yuki’s expression softens. “Of course not.”

“I’m not that familiar with fire magic,” Viktor begins, feeling heat begin to creep up the back of his neck, but Yuki gently takes the lantern from him.

“That’s okay.”

And as Viktor watches, Yuki’s eyelids slide to half-mast as he blows into the lantern, creating a stream of sparks that coalesce into a single blue flame. Yuki glances sideways to look at Viktor, his eyes glowing molten gold and his expression uncertain, but then a small, shy smile unfurls across his lips.

“Is this fine?”

“M-More than,” Viktor blurts, trying to ignore the way his heart is currently trying to burst from his chest. “It’s _beautiful._ ”

Yuki flushes again, looking pleased as his eyes return back to their warm brown. “I’m glad.”

Viktor reaches for the lantern so they can hold it together, and their fingers brush. Neither of them pull away.

“Ready to send it off?” Viktor asks.

“Yes.”

They release the lantern into the air, the breeze making it drift in the direction of the town and the palace, a single starburst of ice amidst fire.

“Seeing all these lights has always been my favorite part of the festival,” Yuki sighs, the glow from the lanterns reflecting in his eyes. “Not the shows, or the food—it has always been this.”

“Me too,” Viktor blurts. “You’re reminded of how you’re just one small part of something so much greater.”

Yuki hums in agreement. “That’s true. But for me, it’s also like… it’s like I’m not alone. That I don’t have to be, and I can be myself for at least one night.”

Viktor is struck by the wistfulness threaded in Yuki’s words. It occurs to him then that he has absolutely no idea who Yuki even is, in contrast to everything he’s spilled about himself. A normal person would pry, but Viktor squashes that thought down.

“Ah, sorry, I tend to ramble when I drink,” Yuki says, casting his gaze back to the lantern-filled sky. “Forget I said anything.”

The atmosphere around them is charged with something uncertain, teetering on the edge of something _more_ , and Viktor takes Yuki’s hand in his.

“Where you come from doesn’t matter to me,” he says desperately. “No matter what, I think you’re incredible.”

Yuki’s mouth parts, his cheeks flushing. Viktor thinks he’d like to see that blush more. _“Oh,_ ” he breathes. “Thank you. I think you’re quite incredible yourself.”

They get to their feet in an unspoken agreement, brushing off the sand and smoothing out the wrinkles from their robes. Viktor leaves the mat there—it’s made out of grass anyway, it should be fine—and they begin their walk back to the city.

An ache that had begun to develop when they left the lakeshore is now hitting him full force. Viktor doesn’t want this to end. Not now. Not when they could have more _time._

“Will I see you again?” Viktor asks once they reach his front door.

“I’d like to,” Yuki says, his lips quirking up into a tiny smile.

“You know, Viktor says, catching Yuki’s sleeve, “you don’t have to go yet if you don’t have to. I, um, have a dog who would definitely love to meet you.”

Hope glimmers in Yuki’s eyes. “I’d love to meet this dog as well.”

Viktor unlocks the doors, flips the switch to light the candles, and whistles for Makkachin. “Makka, come! We have a visitor.”

A blur of fluffy brown speeds around the corner, her nails clacking against the wooden floor, and Viktor can only watch in horror as his dog completely bowls Yuki over. Yuki crashes to his back, hissing out a sharp _itai!_ as his head hits the floor and his glasses are set askew.

Viktor somehow manages to find his voice. “ _Down,_ Makka,” he scolds, trying and failing to pull her off Yuki. “Yuki, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Yuki says, laughter bubbling from his lips as Makka noses curiously at his face and neck. One hand is massaging the point of impact on his head, while the other scritches at Makkachin’s ears. “He was just excited, weren’t you?”

“She,” Viktor corrects, helping Yuki get up. “Makkachin’s my little lady.” He pauses. “At least, when she wants to be. She’s not too polite when it comes to people she likes.”

“Sorry, girl,” Yuki says, reaching down to give the poodle an apologetic pat. Viktor’s heart may or may not have stuttered then. Then Yuki fidgets and asks, glancing around Viktor’s home, “Do you have some ice?”

Viktor wonders what this house looks like to Yuki, someone who’s seeing it with fresh eyes. They didn’t enter in through the store, full of colorful bottles and jars of everything imaginable. The apothecary itself is rather otherworldly compared to the relative lived-in state of his home, which is much plainer by contrast. He’s struck by a sudden wave of embarrassment, and an urge to prove himself.

“I’m a healer,” Viktor says, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “If it’s okay with you, I can help.”

Yuki’s confused expression is replaced with warmth. “Sure.”

Viktor tentatively threads his fingers through Yuki’s hair—oh, it _is_ as soft as it looks—and runs them along the surface of Yuki’s scalp until he sees Yuki wince.

“Sorry,” he says, concentrating on that one tender area now that he’s found it. “Give me a few moments, you’ll feel much better soon.”

Energy begins to hum between them, a faint magenta glow emanating from his hands as Viktor encourages Yuki’s body to recover. Because that’s essentially how healing magic functions—it’s a natural supplement to how the body heals itself.

The glow fades from his fingertips once Yuki sighs blissfully, and Viktor steps back, saying quietly, “That should do it.”

“Thank you, Viktor,” Yuki says, and Viktor shakes his head.

“It was my fault that you got hurt. It’s the least I could do to fix it.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds until Makka whines, pawing at Viktor’s robes for attention. It’s then that Viktor realizes that they’re still standing in the entryway, their shoes still on, and he flushes.

“You can come in more,” Viktor says, averting his gaze. Yuki has already started removing his sandals already, almost as if he read his mind, and Viktor startles when Yuki goes beet-red as soon as that thought passes through his head.

“I’m sorry, that was incredibly rude—I only had a quick look—”

Viktor blinks, something coming to mind. “Are you a telepath, Yuki? Not a fire mage?”

Yuki covers his face and nods quickly. “Fire is my secondary branch. But my primary branch—please don’t tell. Not many people are supposed to know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Viktor is falling in love with Yuki more and more. From how _cute_ he is, to how much he seems to love Makka, and now he apparently specializes in one of the most complicated branches of magic to boot? Viktor doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt so strongly about a person before.

Viktor brews a pot of tea, laughing at Yuki’s scandalized expression when Viktor ladles a dollop of jam into his own cup, and then… they talk. About everything and anything. Viktor’s chest feels light and bubbly, as if he’d drunk several flutes of champagne instead of that one cup of whatever Chris gave him a few hours ago, and Viktor never wants this to end.

“Business has been a bit slow recently, but I’m sure that it’ll pick up again after tonight with all the people asking for hangover tonics,” Viktor muses.

Yuki snorts. “Definitely, my father’s ordered some from you before.”

Viktor latches onto this new piece of information like a lifeline. “Oh really? Maybe I remember him.” He’s noticed that Yuki gave vague answers about who he is and where he comes from, so Viktor’s been trying to build up that collage with every piece that Yuki offers. But out of respect for Yuki’s privacy, Viktor doesn’t pry too much.

Yet, he can’t help but feel disappointed when Yuki’s bright expression closes off. “You probably wouldn’t remember him,” Yuki says, his voice filled with false cheer. “You must get a bunch of these orders.”

“I do,” Viktor agrees, letting the topic go. “Will you be able to get home safely? I have a spare bedroom if you need.”

Yuki smiles. “I’ll be okay.” Then he sighs and stands up. Viktor joins him. “My family’s probably expecting me. I’ve stayed out much later than I should have. But,” he says, effectively cutting off the apology that’s currently dying on Viktor’s tongue, “I had fun. Thank you, Viktor. I’m glad we met.”

“Safe travels,” Viktor says, seeing him to the door. “Feel free to stop by whenever. I’m almost always here.”

“I enjoyed your company tonight.” A beat of silence, then Yuki tiptoes to press a feather-light kiss to Viktor’s cheek. “I’ll bring Vicchan with me next time so he and Makka can meet. Good night.”

Viktor is fairly sure that his cheeks are incredibly red at the moment. _Next time,_ he said. “Good night.”

And once the door is closed behind him, Viktor sinks to the floor and says, very seriously, “Makka, I think I’m in love.”

 

* * *

 

 A figure melts out of the shadows, falling into step next to him. “Did you have a good night, Your Highness?”

“I’ve told you a million times to just please call me _Yuuri,_ Chris.”

Chris’s next words make Yuuri stop in the middle of the street, his hands balling into fists.

“Not ‘Yuki’?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Viktor can’t know. Please.”

“He’s my friend too.” Chris’s voice is heavy with meaning.

“I-I know. Just… give me more time. I don’t want _this_ to change how he treats me.”

“…I understand.”

 

* * *

 

“Um. Hello? Viktor?”

Viktor whirls around, nearly losing his grip on the watering can. “Yuki!” he cries, setting it down on the floor. “You’re here!”

Yuki shuffles nervously, and it’s then that Viktor realizes he’s carrying something in his arms. It wriggles. “This is my dog,” he explains, petting the tiny brown ball of fluff. “Vicchan.”

Viktor gasps and races over to see. “Oh _hello,_ you’re so small! Cute, too.”

“Isn’t he?” Yuki beams. He sets the poodle down on the floor, who is almost immediately accosted by Makkachin. They watch the dogs inspect each other, and Viktor smiles when Makkachin barks and begins to run off, Vicchan chasing her.

“So what brings you here?” Viktor asks, trying not to sound too eager. Yuki’s attire is more relaxed compared to the first time they met, and his hair looks a little damp, based on the way the strands curl around his ears as it dries. And almost impossibly, he seems even more beautiful in the daylight.

Yuki blushes. “Um. I just wanted to see you again.”

Viktor lights up. “A strange coincidence, I’ve _also_ been looking forward to your visit! Here, come help me prepare these,” he says, impulsively grabbing Yuki’s wrist. “I’m still working, so I’m afraid I won’t make great company.”

“That’s okay,” Yuki says. “As long as I’m not bothering you.”

“Never,” Viktor assures, leading him deeper into the shop.

They step behind the counter and into the back room, where Viktor keeps the larger quantities of potion. Sometimes it takes much more than his magical energy to heal a wound, to cure a sickness, or provide anything that his clients need, so it helps to have a fallback.

Viktor shows him how to prepare a simple potion for soothing sore throats, trying not to combust at how close in proximity he and Yuki are, and belatedly remembers last minute that Yuki is a _telepath._ Oh, god. He’s probably read every signal that Viktor gave off.

“It’s fine,” Yuki mumbles, answering Viktor’s unspoken worry. He glances up shyly. “It’s… nice, actually. Knowing that you’re such a genuine person. It makes it easier to be around you.”

Viktor is filled with warmth. Then he says, feeling bold, “Then I guess I shouldn’t be holding back my intense infatuation for you, right?”

The following blush that climbs up Yuki’s neck and cheeks and ears is _definitely_ worth the ruined potion when Yuki drops the ingredients, looking adorably flustered.

 

* * *

  

Their meetings become more regular after that.

Yuki is always the one who drops by the apothecary to pick Viktor up, never the other way around, and Viktor doesn’t question it. This also means that Yuki’s arrivals are almost always a surprise, but after a few mishaps with Yuki showing up during Viktor’s busier days, they’ve started planning their meetings.

Usually Yuki’s dressed casually, like the first time he brought Vicchan to the apothecary, with his hair fluffy and glasses perched on his nose. But sometimes, like today, he wears robes that could pass for belonging to the royal family. Yuki is more out of breath on those rare occasions, glancing over his shoulder like he’s being chased.

“Are you all right?” Viktor asks when Yuki shows up at his doorstep, his body swathed in robes of bright crimson and lips painted with the same color. His hair is pushed back, but his glasses are still perched on his nose.

Yuki averts his gaze, and that is an answer in itself.

“I’m fine,” he says, his cheeks flushed with exertion. “I may have neglected to do a few things at home, though, and I have no desire to return anytime soon.”

Viktor frowns. “You’re not in trouble from your family by being here, right?”

“Oh, not at all!” Yuki reassures. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. My family just worries too much. Are we still okay to go to the bakery?” he asks, changing the subject.

Viktor nods and extends his arm. Yuki takes it with a bright smile. Viktor’s heart flutters.

But not for the first time, Viktor wonders where Yuki really comes from, and who he truly is. His heart is kind, his eyes are warm, and his mind is filled with more knowledge than Viktor can even imagine. Yuki is absolutely perfect in every way, down to the way his body fits against Viktor’s side.

As they walk the streets of the city, the hue of Yuki’s robes is bright enough to draw the stares of everyone passing by. Not many people are bold or wealthy enough to have such a shade in their closets—not even Viktor, dressed simply in monochrome.

Then Viktor steals a glance at Yuki, who’s drinking in the sight of the city like he can’t get enough. There’s wonder written all over his face, and Viktor can’t help but smile.

Ah, there’s no point in worrying about it. Yuki will tell him when he’s ready.

“We’re here, Yuki,” he says, pulling him into the bakery.

The man working the counter looks up at the tinkling bell and smiles. “Welcome back, Vitya!” Dedushka greets, bagging a pastry and handing it to a customer. “Who is this with you?”

“Yuki,” Viktor says. “We’re friends.”

Possibly more than that, if Yuki lets him.

Yuki dips his head in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Dedushka waves him off. “No need to be so formal with me, young man. Go find a seat, we will be with you soon.”

“Who is that?” Yuki whispers.

“My grandfather,” Viktor answers, sitting down at a table by the windows. “He raised my little brother and me after our parents passed.”

Yuki looks stricken as he takes his own seat. “I’m so sorry—”

But Viktor shakes his head. “Don’t be. It happened a long time ago.” He rests his chin in his palm. “They were the ones who inspired me to pursue healing magic, you know. I didn’t want anyone else to know the pain of losing a loved one too soon.”

His other hand is enveloped in Yuki’s. “You’re incredible,” Yuki says, his expression soft.

“I personally think I’m far from it, but thank you,” Viktor replies. He squeezes Yuki’s hand back, and neither of them make a move to let go.

“So where’s your brother?” Yuki asks.

“Probably somewhere around here. He’s only sixteen, so not old enough to have his own space.”

“Ah,” Yuki says in understanding. “Having such a large age gap between you must have been very interesting.”

“Mmm. We’re almost twelve years apart, so I fell into the parent role more often than not while we were growing up.”

“My sister probably felt the same way,” Yuki muses. “We’re about seven years apart, smaller than yours, but still.”

Viktor grins. “Speaking of my brother, here he comes.”

“About _time_ you showed up here, Vitya,” Yura’s voice interrupts over his shoulder.

“Yura!” Viktor greets. “Yuki, this is Yuri. My brother.”

Yura gives Yuki a once-over, and apparently deems him acceptable when his lips curl up into a smirk. “So _you’re_ the one Vitya’s been mooning over these past few weeks. Nice to meet you.”

“Y-You too,” Yuki manages, looking faint.

“Lemme know what you want and I’ll bring it over,” Yura says, summoning a pad of paper and a pencil. Then Viktor tells him, watching his brother scribble down the names of the breads and pastries before he crinkles the paper up and it vanishes. “You should come visit more often,” Yura mentions, vanishing the pencil back to wherever it came from. “Deda misses you.”

“I will,” Viktor promises. “Thank you, Yura.”

“Your brother’s name is Yuri?” Yuki asks once Yura leaves. “He’s nice.”

Viktor nods, rubbing his thumb over Yuki’s knuckles. “Yeah. Like the prince’s name, but spelled differently. It’s a popular name in the kingdom that my _praded_ came from before coming here.”

“I see. Have you ever been?”

Viktor shakes his head. “No. We’ve always been here. I was told that it’s much more peaceful here, thanks to the Katsuki family’s rule. And it seems like it’s true, so we’re not leaving anytime soon.” When Viktor meets Yuki’s eyes again, there’s something strange in his expression. Something faraway. Almost thoughtful. “Yuki?” he asks, and Yuki startles.

“Oh, sorry. I just thinking.”

“About?”

“What I’ll be doing with my own future. You mentioned how the kingdom is safe with the Katsukis, so…”

Viktor stays quiet, waiting for him to go on.

“I want to be a teacher,” Yuki confesses. “To teach kids how to control their magic, to learn how to love it and not be afraid. I want them to love who they are, because I know that there are other kingdoms that do not look as kindly on magic as we do.”

“‘We’?” Viktor questions, picking up on that one word, and Yuki blushes.

“ _We_ meaning _us._ Everyone. Magic is part of our lives, but there are some who think us too powerful. They are afraid. And as long as I am around, there will never be a child who fears themself.”

Viktor is, quite honestly, stunned. He has never heard Yuki sound so _passionate_ before, so _determined,_ and he feels his heart swell. “That’s amazing,” he says in a rush. “I hope that you can have that dream.”

Yuki gives him a shy smile, his eyes sparkling. “You think so? Thank you.”

“Definitely. With the amount of love that you give everything you do, there’s no doubt that you can accomplish this.”

Yura brings them the plate of food not even a moment later, an _enjoy_ slipping from his lips, and Viktor pulls him down into a hug before he goes. He’s still willow-thin, bones jutting out everywhere, and Viktor promises him that he’ll visit again soon. Yura leaves with a smile on his face.

The sound that Yuki makes when he bites into the first crisp, buttery roll makes Viktor’s stomach flip-flop. “This is _wonderful,_ ” Yuki mumbles around the bread, his cheeks flushed. They unfortunately had to let go of each other in order to eat, and Viktor’s hands already feel empty. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything as good as this.”

“It’s Deda’s recipe,” Viktor says, biting into his own roll. “I still can’t make it the same way he does, but I try. Yura’s are better than mine, actually.”

“Is there magic in these?” Yuki asks, reaching for a jam-and-frosting-covered pastry. “Enhancements?”

Viktor shakes his head. “Nope. Deda can’t use magic, so all that he really puts in it is love. It’s probably why mine aren’t as good as his or Yura’s—I get too impatient when making them.”

“I’m sure they’re great,” Yuki tries, and Viktor laughs.

“They _are,_ but they’re missing something that gives them that specific taste. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“You’ll get it. I know you will.”

Viktor smiles. “Thank you, Yuki.”

They finish off the plate, and continue talking. Yuki’s lipstick is fainter now, with some of it smeared onto a napkin. And before they leave, Viktor pays for a piece of every item that sits in the bakery’s counter (ignoring his grandfather’s protests) and gifts them to Yuki.

“For you,” Viktor says. “I noticed how much you liked these, so…”

Yuki’s eyes shine with delight. “You are wonderful.”

“I try my best,” Viktor teases. “How else am I supposed to woo you?”

As expected, a blush paints itself on Yuki’s cheeks. “You’re so unfair,” he breathes. Viktor has an urge to kiss the rest of the red lipstick off his mouth.

And after saying goodbye to his family, Viktor does just that.

 

* * *

  

“Chris, I think I’m in love with him.”

“Who?”

“Yuki. I kissed him the last time we met, and it felt amazing. Like my heart grew _wings_.”

Chris’s expression is unreadable. They’re sitting at a little hole in the wall for dinner, a bottle of wine being split between them, and Viktor must be tipsier than he thought because he continues to ramble.

“He’s so pretty. Have you seen his eyes? If you look closely enough, you can see gold flecks in them. And when he does magic, his eyes _glow_ gold.”

Chris still hasn’t said anything, and after a while, ventures, “Are you sure about him, Vitya?”

Irritation bubbles in Viktor’s gut. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chris shrugs, looking a little uneasy. “You don’t know much about him. He’s said _nothing_ about his family, or where he comes from—don’t you think that’s odd?”

“Maybe,” Viktor acquiesces, “but that’s his choice. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

“And if he’s never ready?”

Viktor downs the rest of his glass and wipes his mouth. “Then we’ll see what happens when it does.”

 

* * *

 

“Viktor, are you okay?” Yuki asks, peering at him, and Viktor startles when he realizes just how close Yuki is. He could count every eyelash if he wanted to.

They’re sitting on a park bench and sharing a sandwich between them, while the dogs rest at their feet. It’s been a few months since they first met, and the air is slowly becoming colder. Yuki’s hair is tucked into a cat-eared hat, looking utterly adorable.

“I’m fine,” Viktor assures. “Just a little lost in thought.”

Chris’s words have been swirling around in Viktor’s mind ever since that one night and looking at Yuki now, Viktor can’t find any basis in them. Yuki is open and genuine, his eyes filled with kindness, and Viktor feels some of his worries melt away. He’s learned to put up a mental shield so that his mind isn’t as exposed to anyone who might be looking in, and he’s grateful that Yuki has taught him—especially since these thoughts might upset him.

He presses a light kiss to Yuki’s mouth to distract himself. “Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Of course I do,” Yuki mumbles against his lips. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t worry about someone I cared about?”

“Ah, my Yuki is so sweet,” Viktor cries, peppering kisses all over Yuki’s cheeks. “What would I do without you?”

Yuki’s laughter grows with each peck and it’s not long before they’re both giggling like schoolchildren, their arms wrapped around each other. Yuki’s expression softens into something fond, and Viktor’s sure that it mirrors his own.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t realize Makkachin’s gotten free. Or Vicchan. But then he watches Yuki’s eyes flicker down to where the poodles should have been, and slowly fill with horror.

“ _Matte!”_ shouts Yuki, springing up suddenly and sprinting after the two dogs. Viktor lurches after them, plunging into the wet grass and skidding next to Yuki’s side. The dogs are sitting there together in the mud, their tongues lolling out as they pant happily, and Yuki has both of their leashes in a firm hold.

“Sorry for not keeping an eye on them,” Viktor gasps out, taking Makkachin’s leash from Yuki and looping it twice around his wrist.

Yuki shakes his head. “It’s my fault too. It’s okay.” Then he glances down at himself and grimaces. “I definitely won’t be able to explain _this_ when I get home.”

His trousers and tunic are splattered with mud, and Viktor feels guilt pool in his stomach. “Do you want to come back to my house to clean up?” he asks. “I can lend you something.” Yuki glances up, his expression curious, and Viktor gulps. “So you don’t get in as much trouble,” he tries to explain, waving his hands. Then he adds, hesitant, “Are… are you sure that your family isn’t upset that you’re with me?”

Yuki’s eyes widen. “Of course I’m sure,” he blurts. “It’s just—”

“Just…?”

Yuki looks like he’s about to say something, but then apparently decides against it as he shakes his head regretfully. “It’s nothing. Thank you for the offer, Viktor, but I should be getting home now. I’ve been gone much longer than I thought.”

“Oh. Okay.” Viktor tries not to feel crushed by Yuki’s decision to leave.

Then Yuki’s expression softens and he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Viktor’s lips. “If you’re free tomorrow… we can try this date again. And even so, I had fun today.”

Viktor’s heart swells, previous hurt forgotten. “Okay! We can have a picnic by the lake. I’ll bring a portable fire so we won’t get too cold.”

Yuki beams. “That sounds _perfect._ I’ll see you soon, Vitya. I love you.”

Viktor isn’t sure what surprised him more—the fact that Yuki called him _Vitya,_ or that he said he _loved_ him. But he tips forward and buries his face into the junction of Yuki’s neck and shoulder. _I love you,_ he thinks, trying to transmit that thought into Yuki’s mind, and judging by the pleased noise that Yuki makes, his sentiment is received loud and clear.

“I’ll see you soon,” Viktor mumbles.

“See you soon.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t come.

 

* * *

  

Viktor drops a sprig of crushed lavender into the pot, closing his eyes as the sweet aroma permeates the workshop.

Tomorrow marks a month since he’s last seen Yuki, and Viktor is worried. It isn’t like Yuki to disappear like this.

A smaller, more insidious part of him whispers that Chris was _right,_ that he shouldn’t have trusted Yuki so much, but the part that loves Yuki with his entire being knows that this isn’t right. But Yuki never gave Viktor any reliable form of contact, and Viktor has no way to find him.

It’s lonelier now that Viktor knows what it’s like to have company. He visits Yura and Dedushka at least once a week now, and he and Chris try to see each other as often as they can, but he finds himself perking up whenever the bell above the shop’s entryway rings—and deflating when he realizes that the visitor is not the one he’s missed for so long.

Viktor is poking the flames, coaxing them to burn brighter (and trying not to associate the bluebell flames with the ones from the festival), when the bell chimes.

“Just a moment!” he calls, trying not to let his hope rise, and stirs the pot in a counterclockwise rotation for seven seconds, and clockwise for three. The potion, now a deep purple, bubbles cheerfully in the cauldron.

Viktor carefully ladles the concoction into several bottles, stoppers them, extinguishes the fire, then steps out into the main room of the shop.

“Hello, how may I help you?” Viktor asks, fixing his messy ponytail. Then he stops when he sees Chris standing there in full uniform, something akin to—guilt? Worry?—on his face. “Chris? What’s wrong?”

“The royal family requests your presence,” Chris says. “The queen has fallen ill.”

Viktor’s eyes widen. “Queen Hiroko? She’s sick? I’ll come right away.” He unties his apron and drops it on a nearby chair, petting Makkachin when she gives him a worried whine. Viktor then loops his bag around his neck—an extension of his workshop so that he’ll have the necessary ingredients once he sees the queen. “I’ll be back soon, Makka. Watch the house while I’m gone.”

“I’ll take you there,” Chris says, extending his arm.

They leap into the shadows and emerge from the silhouette of a pine tree, standing tall next to the palace gates. Viktor sucks in a breath when he sees the grandeur of the building, massive and cathedral-like, and tightens his grip on Chris’s arm.

“I’m really here, aren’t I.”

“You are,” Chris confirms, a sad—sad?—smile on his face, and Viktor frowns. Chris is being more cryptic than usual, and Viktor isn’t liking it.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Chris hesitates before answering. “You’ll see.”

“Chris! What is it?”

“The queen is expecting us. We should go.”

They walk up to the towering doors of the palace, painted a bright crimson not unlike the robes that Yuki had worn a few months before. The guards, a slight woman with her brown hair pulled into a ponytail, and a stocky man with a square jaw, acknowledge them with a nod.

“The Nishigoris,” Chris explains when they walk past. “Friends of Prince Yuuri. You’ll… meet him again soon.”

Viktor chooses to ignore Chris’s odd phrasing and instead follows him up two flights of stairs and around a corner. Red seems to be the Katsuki family’s favored color—the carpet underneath them is a muted burgundy, and countless tapestries have the hue threaded throughout.

Chris knocks on the door. “Your Majesty? I have brought the healer as you requested.”

“Come in!”

Viktor steps into the room first. The queen is lying under the covers, her eyes incredibly kind even as a fevered flush burns in her cheeks. She looks different from the newspapers—more real, more _substantial_ —and her smile… Viktor nearly does a double-take when he realizes he’s _seen_ that smile before. An image of Yuki comes to mind, but he swats that thought away immediately. It’s impossible.

“Are you Viktor?” the queen asks, her voice soft.

“Yes, Your Majesty. May I come closer to see what is wrong?”

Queen Hiroko nods. Viktor walks closer with Chris close behind, and there’s something about the queen’s presence that’s disarming. Almost like he could trust her with anything. When he tells her so, she laughs.

“Ah, that’s my empathetic overflow. It helps when tensions run high during court,” she says, winking.

Viktor can’t help but laugh as well. “So what can you tell me about your sickness?” he asks, taking a seat by her side.

“I haven’t been feeling well for the past few days,” Hiroko tells him, an embarrassed smile playing about her lips. “I scared my children this morning when I fainted. I must have been more ill than I thought.”

“It’s most likely overexertion, Your Majesty,” Viktor says, laying the back of his hand over Hiroko’s forehead. It’s warm. Overly so. “I brewed something recently for fevers. I’ll give it to you, but rest will be the best medicine.”

Hiroko closes her eyes. “Thank you. That makes me feel much better.”

Viktor doesn’t know when Chris leaves, leaving the queen and himself alone in the room as he gives her a cup of the potion to drink.

“It doesn’t taste the best,” Viktor says apologetically, but Hiroko shakes her head.

“It’s fine. Most potions don’t.” Then she lifts her head to look at something over his shoulder, and her eyes brighten. “Ah, Yuuri! The healer is here.”

“Okaa-san?” the prince replies, and Viktor’s heart stops. He _knows_ that voice.

And when Viktor turns around, Yuki—or more accurately, _Prince Yuuri Katsuki_ —is standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise.

 

* * *

 

Once Queen Hiroko is asleep, Viktor leaves the bottle of potion on her bedside table, along with a set of written instructions on when to take it.

Yuki— _Yuuri_ —flinches when Viktor levels him with a look, and scrambles out of the armchair to follow him out of the room.

“Aren’t you angry with me?” Yuuri asks, and Viktor stops in his tracks.

“I was never angry with you, Yuuri,” Viktor says, the name rolling unfamiliarly off his tongue. “Worried, yes. Disappointed? Also yes. But angry?” He shakes his head and turns around. “I could never be angry with you.”

“But Vitya,” Yuuri says, his voice trembling, “I _lied_ to you.”

“I know.”

“Can we talk?” Yuuri asks quietly, taking his hand. Viktor can’t help but marvel at how perfectly it feels in his own. “My sister has a glass garden. No one will disturb us there.”

Viktor nods and lets himself be led. And in the depths of Crown Princess Mari’s garden, everything is cleared up.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Viktor asks softly.

“I’d been caught sneaking back into the palace one too many times,” Yuuri admits. “It apparently wasn’t safe for me to be outside and see you without letting anyone know.”

“Reckless to do that just for me,” Viktor admonishes, ignoring the way his heart flutters at Yuuri’s words.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you,” Yuuri says, his voice small. He’s tucked into Viktor’s side, soft and warm and wracked with guilt, and Viktor wraps an arm around his waist. “I lied about everything else—who I was, where I came from—but my feelings for you never were.” He exhales shakily. “I was scared, Vitya. I wanted _you_ and _us_ so much. You saw me as a person and loved me for who I was, and I was _terrified_ of losing that.” Yuuri’s next words are tear-filled. “I didn’t want to lose _you._ So I lied. And I kept lying. I was afraid that if you knew who I really was, everything would change. I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you.”

Viktor tightens his hold around Yuuri, trying to send as much love and encouragement as he can. “I’ll admit that I was surprised to see you _here_ out of all places, but… we can try this again. I _know_ we can. Yuki or Yuuri—I know you and I love you, and there’s nothing I want more than to have you by my side for as long as possible.”

“You met me where I was,” Yuuri whispers. “And I love you too.”

They sit there for a while, their shoulders pressed together and their hands intertwined. There’s still more that needs to be discussed—but they can handle that another time.

They’ve got all the time in the world for that.

**Author's Note:**

> and they lived happily ever after in love with their two poodles <3
> 
> please tell me what you thought!
> 
> [tumblr](https://postingpebbles.tumblr.com) // [twitter](https://twitter.com/postingpebbles) // [pillowfort](https://pillowfort.io/postingpebbles)


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